


We'll Run Till We Drop

by onebatch2batch



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Discussions of past, F/M, Feelings abound, Frank acts as guard dog, Karen gets into trouble as per usual, They go camping, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29645067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept next to somebody,” she whispers. Somehow it feels sacrilegious to talk at normal volume, even though they’re probably the only two people for miles.Frank is silent for a heartbeat. “Me too,” he says finally, quietly.--Or, Frank and Karen go on a road trip, do a little camping, and a lot of running.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	We'll Run Till We Drop

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bruce Springsteen's 'Born To Run'

It was supposed to be bigger. 

Karen looks at the carefully erected tent before her. In any other dimension, any other moment, any other company—it would have been romantic. The bright orange tent material contrasts nicely with the backdrop; rows and rows of trees taller than she’s ever seen them. Bushes and brambles and beauty that crowd in on every side of the clearing they’d found.The place reminds her a little of Vermont, all fresh air and nature sounds. A glance up would show beautiful cerulean skies that fight against the plush white clouds for dominance. 

Instead, Karen looks at her too-small tent. 

Frank is off somewhere in the treeline, making sure they weren’t followed. Setting up a parameter. They’ve been driving all day through Pennsylvania and into Northern Ohio. Matt and Foggy had been adamant that she skip town for a while after the numerous death threats (and one unsuccessful attempt on her life) after she got too involved with one of their cases. She had called Frank right away—if there was anyone who knew how to disappear into the ethers, it was him. Unfortunately that had led to his offer to accompany slash protect her and while she had refused at first, well...here she is. And here he is, stomping through the surrounding woods to find kindling for the fire she’s supposed to be starting. 

But the tent. Her cheeks warm as she stares it down as if willing it to be bigger than it is. When she crouches down to throw in their sleeping bags, she’s disappointed. They’re snugly fit, side by side. Too close. They’re going to look like a couple of sardines. 

She zips the tent closed with a sigh, sitting back on her haunches. There’s any number of things she should be doing: blow up their sleeping pads, get the fire started, crack open a beer, keep watch. Her mind stubbornly refuses. The sleeping pads will only add to the lack of space inside; she has no idea where the fire starters are and she’s loath to start one the hard way; it’s too early to resort to beer.

So she sits and tries to decide how to avoid tonight's sleeping arrangements—or at the very least, make it less awkward. 

Frank comes back nearly twenty minutes later with an armful of sticks and dumps them in the middle of the clearing. He turns to look around, then lifts a brow at her. 

“Sorry,” Karen mumbles, flushing. “I don’t know where you put the fire starters.” 

“Shit, sorry,” Frank huffs, rummaging around in his bag to locate them. He tosses them over and gets to work unloading the rest of the car as Karen leans forward to nestle the packet under a small teepee of sticks and dry grass. Within minutes they have a small, growing fire and Frank has sat back to watch her tend to it. 

“Tent looks roomy,” he tells her dryly after some time, and Karen pinks again.

“It looked bigger on the website,” she defends. “And we were in a hurry.”

“Uh huh.” He goes over and unzips it, the resulting noise loud in the silence. She thinks he’s also probably trying to think of a way to get out of sleeping in such close quarters until she hears the telling sound of air being let into their sleeping pads.

“Do you camp often?” Karen asks once he’s returned to the ring of fire. He had seemed oddly prepared to take her on this venture, procuring travel camp stoves, sleeping bags, and backpacks seemingly out of nowhere. 

Frank shrugs. “Every once in a while. Used to a lot more.”

She doesn’t ask when; she has a feeling she already knows. “Thank you for doing this, Frank. I’m a little embarrassed you have to, but I honestly didn’t know what else to do.”

He gives her a soft look. “Any day, I mean it. I can leave it to Red this one time to prove he’s not completely useless...what? I said  _ not _ completely useless.”

Karen rolls her eyes. She tosses a log on the fire. “Vigilantes.”

\--

It’s beautiful in Southern Ohio, if a tad on the warm side. Karen switches between reading her book--some paperback she’d found at the last gas station--and asking every question that pops into her mind about Frank that she doesn’t already know. Frank seems content to sit back and read his own book and indulge her interrogation. Since they’d crossed the border into Ohio he’d been a little more relaxed than before. She figures if anyone had been trailing them, they’ve long since lost them.

“Have you considered getting a dog?” Karen asks, brushing his arm with hers as she lifts her water bottle to her lips. Somehow through the evening, after every sweep of the parameter, he’s gotten closer. Now they’re side by side, staring into the fire as the sky steadily darkens. 

“Nah,” Frank hums non committedly. “My building doesn’t allow pits.”

“A pitbull?” She turns to scrutinize him, then nods. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well I mean, you’re basically the human equivalent.” She grins at his arched brow. “Tough on the outside, big softy on the inside. Protective. You know, pitbull.”

Frank huffs, amused. “You’re gonna ruin my street cred with talk like that.”

Hearing the words  _ street cred _ come out of his mouth yanks a laugh from her. She bumps his shoulder with her own. He sways with her, an overexaggerated move considering if he really wanted, he could knock her over with one jerk of his elbow. “And anyways, you can always register them as a service dog. I had a friend do that once.”

“You ever see a service pitbull?”

“Well, no.”

Frank snorts. “Right.”

“Well, you could move into mine,” she says, and then stops at his questioning stare. “Uh--I mean...my building. There’s no restriction on dogs in my building. Or just a different building. Any building, really.”

He seems to really consider it for a moment, and then finishes his water bottle with a sharp crunch of plastic. “I’m gonna do a sweep, it’s getting late.”

And here it is, the moment she’s been absolutely dreading. Karen nods and steps away to relieve herself in the treeline. She can hear the snap of Frank’s boots on twigs as he wanders around, his flashlight sweeping across the opposite side of the clearing. She leaves him to it and heads toward the tent. It is  _ definitely  _ small, and as she climbs into her sleeping bag she realizes this full force. Just her tall frame is enough to take up nearly half the floor space. She keeps the ‘windows’ open so that some cool autumn breeze can get in. Outside she can see the stars through the trees. It’s beautiful, and she finds herself entranced by the view, momentarily forgetting her nervousness.  _ Maybe this is why people camp _ . 

A couple feet away, she hears Frank pour water on the fire. It crackles and pops angrily and the light dies down until it’s just the beam of his flashlight sweeping back and forth. 

There’s a feeling in her chest that Karen can only quivocate to dread. There’s no other explanation for how loud her pulse is beating in her ears and how tight her chest feels. She forces her breathing to even out, determined to sleep her way through this awkward situation. Maybe by the time he returns she won't be awake and she can avoid the entire thing. 

It’s not as if she’s scared of sharing a few feet of forest floor with Frank. She hasn’t been scared of him for a very long time. What she is afraid of—when she deigns it necessary to remind herself about it—are her romantic feelings towards him. Her  _ unreciprocated  _ romantic feelings. Because by now she’s put her heart on the line too many times and has been rejected just as many for her to ever think he’s interested in anything but friendship. And while Frank Castle may think this is just another normal day, the fact of the matter is that she has spent too many restless nights alone in her own bed thinking of him. 

So when Frank returns to the tent and unzips the other side to climb in, all hope of sleeping flies out the window. All the sudden every square inch of the tent floor is taken up by him, his smell, his warmth. Karen clutches her sleeping bag, her back to him, staring at the tent material with bated breath. It takes a moment for him to get situated on his sleeping pad and after several long minutes he falls still. Karen is uncomfortable at best--she’s never been a side sleeper, always on her back--but there’s no way she’s rolling over now. Not when she can feel the heat of him from a scant few inches away. Not when the smallest brush of her arm would make contact with him. She closes her eyes against the darkness and prays for sleep to come quickly. 

“Karen,” Frank rumbles after some time. 

“Yeah?”

“If you’re uncomfortable I can sleep in the car.”

She turns her head sharply, trying to catch him in her peripheral vision, but she can’t see a damn thing now that his flashlight is out. “Why did you say that?”

He grunts. “You seem...tense, is all.”

“I’m not tense, I’m fine. Just...not used to sleeping on the ground.” It’s a lie, and a bad one at that. They both know it. After a brief pause Frank rolls and she hears the zipper signifying his exit. Ashamed of her inability to keep her feelings under control, she reaches out and grasps his shirt. 

“Wait, Frank, please. Really, I’m fine. Please lay down.”

He exhales softly. “You sure?”

“Yes, I promise. Please.”

He closes the tent and lays back once more. Karen switches to her back, grimacing at how loud the sleeping bag is in the silence. She stares unseeingly upwards. His arm touches hers when he fiddles with the zipper on his own bag. She turns her head to try and glimpse his expression but it’s pitch black. Despite the darkness he must have heard the noise of her movement, because she can hear him follow suit—and then he speaks directly into her face. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve slept next to somebody,” she whispers. Somehow it feels sacrilegious to talk at normal volume, even though they’re probably the only two people for miles. 

Frank is silent for a heartbeat. “Me too,” he says finally, quietly. 

“I’m sorry I made it weird,” she tries. She’s never been very good with apologies, but the cover of darkness is giving her a little boost of confidence. “I guess I was just worried.”

“What about? Me makin’ a move?”

He’s smiling, she can hear it. Karen laughs softly, relieved that he’s not taking her reservations personally. “No, nothing like that. Just that--...”

He waits a beat, until the silence has dragged on. “Yeah?”

“That it might be too much for you,” she hedges, and then corrects herself. “And me, I suppose.” 

Another moment ticks by before he responds. 

“How would it be too much for you?” Frank’s voice is strained. 

_ I’m pushing him, this was a bad idea.  _ She grimaces. _ I should shut up.  _

“Nothing, nevermind. Sorry.”

His voice sharpens; he sounds a little more focused. “How for you, Karen?”

Now she’s done it. She’s offended the person offering her protection and companionship while she’s running for her life. All because she’s overthinking the three inches of space between them. “Look, we should really just get some rest. Can we just--not?”

The tension between them builds. With every word she seems to dig herself a deeper whole. She wishes she would have just kept her big mouth shut. Frank is giving up his life, his free time and his safety to protect her while she’s dredging up issues that aren’t even issues. Acting like a lovesick teenager. 

Frank shifts again, and she can practically feel his stare boring into the side of her head. The tent is becoming smaller and small with each breath. “Karen.”

“Frank, I really don’t think this is a conversation we should have right now.”  _ Or ever. _

“Because I can’t handle it, or you?”

Karen props herself up on her elbow and stares towards him, incredulous. “Are you picking a fight right now?”

“No.” He doesn’t move. “I’m just tryin’ to understand if the issue between us is me or you.”

“ _ Issue _ ?”

“God damn it, Karen. You’re actin’ like we both don’t know what this is.”

“What  _ what  _ is?”

Finally, movement. Frank sits up, trails one searching hand up her arm to the base of her scalp, and pulls her towards him through the darkness. His kiss is searing and rips the breath from her lungs. It takes all of two seconds for her brain to catch up and then Karen is kissing him back just as frantically. They’re still wrapped in sleeping bags so every movement is limited but that doesn’t stop her from tugging him down on top of her, squirming under him as he trails his lips down to her neck, breath harsh in the silence. Karen has that returning feeling in her stomach, but amplified. 

How could she confuse dread with excitement, she thinks with sudden clarity. How could she mix up with excited butterflies in her stomach for foreboding?

“You know,” she gasps when his teeth graze her pulse, “that’s rich coming from you.”

“What’s that,” he mumbles, returning to her lips. 

When he pulls away just enough to help her out of her sleeping bag Karen’s head is spinning. She fights through the pleasurable fog that has settled into her mind. It demands that she stop thinking immediately and start learning every inch of his skin. “Wondering--” she breathes, jumping when the rough pads of his fingers graze her hips beneath her shirt “--if it’s me or--...oh, you.”

She means the hospital. She means when he chose war over her--again. She means every time he’s run away from her. 

“I know, I know,” Frank groans as she loops her arms around his neck and drags him back down.

“I hope you do,” Karen agrees primly, then lets out a shriek when his fingers dance across her ticklish ribs. She giggles — god, when did she last do  _ that  _ — and pushes at him weakly. “Frank!”

He laughs, low and warm in her ear. “I always wondered if you were ticklish.” He replaces his fingers with a ducked head, with soft lips and the coarse scrape of a beard. His mouth sears a path from her ribs to her hip, then back up again, dragging her shirt up with it as he bares her breasts. “Jesus, Karen, is this okay?” 

They can’t see for shit, not out in the dark like this, but she nods either way. She feels as if the night itself is reaching out to caress her skin. The slight chill from the open air draws goosebumps along her flesh. “Yeah,” she whispers, releasing a gasp when his tongue flickers across her nipple. “Oh, yes.”

Franks rumbles in agreement, twists gently at her other nipple with trigger coarse fingers, and settles between her legs. The heat of him sets her alight; she keens and grapples for his shoulders, trying to bring him closer. “Frank.”

“Be patient,” he tells her softly, the words a breeze of warm air on her chilled skin. Karen shivers. “Let me, alright?”

She cradles his head in her hands, arches with every swipe of his tongue and nip of dull teeth on her breasts. She pants and flushes, feels herself wind tightly in apprehension. When he does finally trail his fingers down, letting them slip below the waistband of her sweatpants, Karen is nearly mad with want. She wants to flip them over, to take him in her hand. She wants to trace every scar with her lips. The idea of closing her mouth around the most sensitive part of him makes her jaw go a little slack—and then Frank has touched her directly where she wants him most and she has to suck in a sharp breath, clutching his arm. 

“Oh,” she says dumbly. And then one finger draws up through her folds, gathering the moisture there, swirling up around the tight bundle of nerves at her apex. “ _ Oh.” _

“Alright? Can’t see shit,” Frank murmurs an inch above her lips. She arches up to find his lips in response, claims them with her own just as the wandering finger pushes in. Curls up. Rubs. Karen gasps, feels his tongue find hers, feels the pressure below her hips build higher. “Karen?”

“Yes—yes.” She bucks against his fingers, grabs fast to the arm braced beside her head. “Please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

The endearment makes her heart flutter weakly. She whines, unable and unwilling to give her desires a voice when he has been untouched. When her fingers crave to seek his skin. When she wants to share what he’s doing for her. 

“Karen,” he groans, adds another finger. Hisses when she clenches around them. “You gotta say it.”

“Please, Frank, let me touch you.”

There’s a small surprised pause, and then Frank chuckles. A quiet moment as he moves, where she thinks he’s letting her, where her hands greedily seek his hips, and then suddenly she can see. Frank turns on the flashlight, points it towards the tent wall and looks at her. In the muted light he looks wild, feral with want. His lips are swollen from their kisses. His hair sticks up unevenly. His eyes are wide and intense on her. It’s such a charming picture of what’s to come that she feels herself flutter around his fingers again.

He grins, curls his fingers. Rubs. “That’s it, sweetheart. This is just you, right now. Okay? We can worry about me later.” 

“But—“

“Kare,” he huffs, amused. “Just let me. Yeah?”

She nods, touches his cheek, lets her head fall back when his fingers begin to move in an exploratory rhythm. He takes his time of it, ducking down to press a kiss to her navel. Helps her kick off her pants the rest of the way. His lips trail south as his fingers work her, searching for the spot she herself has only found a handful of times. Karen gasps with every twist, every hot breath against her inner thigh. Frank murmurs soft entreaties, calls her by her name and by endearments she’s never expected to hear fall from his mouth. 

In the soft glow of the flashlight, she stares down and watches. He smiles, glancing up at her, then looks back down to watch his fingers disappear inside her. The tent of his own sweats is strained, making her swallow hard. He could pull himself out now, wet his cock with her mouth or simply replace his fingers. He could fuck her here in the middle of the woods, in an entirely different world, in a world where they’re the only two people alive. He doesn’t, though; instead his head moves down once more and he presses hot, open mouthed kisses around his fingers. The sensation makes her heart stutter in her chest. He’s teasing her, just barely giving her what she wants, and she has half a mind to call this off as a punishment but then—His lips caress the tight bundle of nerves that’s currently keeping her afloat—His fingers press against something that makes her body tense and release all at once—his tongue flicks against her—the world spins. 

Karen dissolves. 

—

She wakes with the sun. 

For a moment, she’s disoriented. It’s beautiful outside the window of the tent, the light of day just barely turning the sky a shade of light blue, some pinks and purples swirling alongside. Dew has collected on the outside of the tent. The air bites at the skin of her face. She’s warm though, under her sleeping bag and—

_ Frank _ , she remembers, peering at the tousled hair at her side. He’s already awake, watching her with an expression of such fondness, such gentleness, that she has to reach out and touch it. 

“Good morning,” she murmurs, suddenly shy. 

Frank turns his head to kiss her palm. It gives her a shiver that has nothing to do with the chill. “Good morning,” he rumbles back. “Sleep okay?”

“Well I’m old and on the ground,” she jokes lightly, smiling.

“ _ You’re _ old?” He complains, huffing, and then snakes an arm around her waist to draw her closer. Karen accepts his kiss happily, lets her hands drift over the ridges of his abs and chest in a way she hadn’t last night. She’s never had the opportunity to touch him this way—unhurried, exploratory, curious. He seems more than content to let her, head propped on a bent arm when they separate. His eyes follow her, a pleased hum vibrating through him as her fingers caress him. 

“Do we have anywhere to be?” She asks after his eyes have slipped closed, mouth soft. 

“No, ma’am. Not for a while.”

“Good.” 

—

Later, she crouches in front of her small but very much alive fire and grins at him over the flames. 

“Told you,” she preens, feeding it more kindling. 

Frank rolls his eyes, smiling. He speaks through a cheek full of almonds. “Yeah, but why would you? We got fire starters.” 

“It’s the principle of the thing. I did it because I can.”

He hums. “Where’d ya learn?”

Karen carefully avoids his eyes, watching the flames grow. “My brother was in boy scouts for a while. I went along most of the time, it was cheaper than a babysitter.”

“Didn’t know you had a brother,” Frank responds, setting the kettle on the flames. He sets out their mugs and dumps in a spoonful of instant coffee into each. 

“Had is the operative word.”

He pauses, glancing up at her. Something rearranges on his face, as if the puzzle he’s been staring at has suddenly formed some kind of a picture. “I see. When?”

“Before I came to New York.” She sits back on one of the pieces of wood she’d found last night. “It was my fault. He came to get me, and I was high, and we crashed the car. Died instantly. He was sixteen. It was the reason I left Vermont.”

“I’m sorry, Karen.” He means it. 

She offers him a soft smile. “Thanks. It doesn’t hurt, talking about it with you.” 

She means it, too. 

—

They drink coffee and then pack up. All of the camping gear is designed to be packed away in incredibly small bundles, and she’s unused to how it all folds up. Several times she has to default to Frank’s direction, his warm hands eclipsing hers as he helps her folds and refold. And sometimes she has to stop just long enough to stare at him, at the casual ease with which he puts everything away and keeps an eye on the treeline all at once. 

Her mind strays to the night before more than once. Now that she’s had a taste of him, she feels addicted. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. Not enough. 

“Did I grow a second head?” Frank jokes as they’re loading the gear into the van. 

Karen huffs, a blush burning it’s way up her chest to her cheeks. “No, sorry. Just--”

And she tosses her bag in the truck, pulling him towards her. Frank fits his hands over her hips, slots his mouth over hers gladly. Before long they’re both panting, tangled in one another, her back against the cold door. Karen wants nothing more than to go home, to have a bed with which to explore him. 

The thought that she can’t sobers her up. Frank pulls away, sees the look in her eyes and nods tightly. 

“We should go.”

\--

They spend a few days like this, sharing kisses, stealing moments between looking over their shoulders and packing up their gear. In Ohio they rent a motel room just because they can. Frank pays cash, gestures for her to use the bathroom first and disappears back out the door to scour the area for tails. Karen takes a long shower, scrubbing away the days of dirt and grime. She washes her face and brushes her teeth. By the time she steps out of the bathroom, Frank is unlacing his boots and she feels like a real person again. Karen touches his ear as she walks by in search of her bag, amazed at how natural it feels to touch him so casually. 

“I should call Matt,” she says absently, searching through her bag for clean clothes. They also need to find a laundromat somewhere. “See if he’s found anything.”

“I talked to Lieberman earlier. Nothing on the news, yet. He’s keepin’ an eye out.” Frank toes off his boots, looks at her. “Don’t leave, alright?”

She nods, dropping her towel to pull on her clothes. It looks like the only clean items she has left are leggings and a large t-shirt, and as she loops her arms through the holes, she realizes Frank hasn’t moved. She glances over and laughs at the dumbfounded look on his face, remembering that although they’ve been fooling around for nearly a week, they haven’t had a chance to see each other completely naked. Her cheeks burn. “Frank.”

“Right, shit. Sorry.” He gives her one more heated once over and then wanders into the bathroom muttering something that sounds suspiciously like  _ cold shower.  _

Karen smiles to herself, pulling on her clothes.There’s a small packet on top of the tv stand that lists nearby diners and services. She reads it twice over, gathering the courage to call Matt. The last thing she wants to hear is that he’s been putting himself in danger for her. And she certainly doesn’t want to hear his opinion on her choice of road trip company. When the shower turns on, she picks up the phone. 

_ “Karen?” _

“Yeah, it’s me.”

_ “I was starting to worry. How are you doing?” _

“I’m good, we’re good. Far away. How is it going there? Are you being careful?”

_ “Careful’s my middle name. We’re getting close. Just stay away a while longer, okay?” _

“I hate that you’re putting yourself in danger,” Karen sighs, “for me. It’s my fault. I’m the one that slipped up.”

_ “Don’t say that.” _ His voice is stern.  _ “We’re going to keep you safe, Karen. Where’s--...Pete?” _

“In the other room. Do you want to talk to him?”

_ “Yes, please.” _

“Hang on.” Karen leaves the phone on the side table, trailing into the other room just as the water shuts off. “Frank? Matt’s on the phone.”

He pulls aside the curtain, already rolling his eyes. “Yeah?” he mutters dryly, grabbing at a towel. Karen lets her eyes linger on him, the way the water trails down, down, down...

“Eyes up here, Page,” Frank chuckles, heading into the other room once the towel is secure around his waist. Karen flushes, following him out quickly. 

“Yeah?” he says into the phone, taking a seat on the bed. “Nah, ‘s been quiet. One guy back in Pennsylvania--wont be an issue, I took care of him.” He pauses, furrows his brow. “Yeah, you can trust him. He’s good with computers. Uh huh, goes by Micro.”

Karen sits on the opposite bed and marvels at their situation for a moment. Daredevil and The Punisher are having a conversation over the phone instead of their weapons. Protecting her, working together. Just a year and a half ago they tried to kill each other. And now Frank is laughing, low, into the phone. It’s enough to make her head spin. 

“Funny,” he snorts. “There’s no jail for them, Red. Not when her life is at stake. You take care of it or I will. Yeah.”

He hangs up the phone and sighs. “He thinks just dropping ‘em off at the courthouse is gonna work. Karen, you gotta know it wont.”

“I know.”

Karen stands, fitting herself between his legs. The towel parts halfway up his thigh to accommodate her, but he doesn’t seem concerned. His eyes meet hers tenderly. She puts her hands on his shoulders, drags them up to clasp his jaw. His palms settle heavy on her hips. 

“Thank you,” she tells him quietly, overwhelmed with emotion for him and for what he’s doing for her. 

His hands climb, press against the small of her back to bring her closer. His brow meets the soft plane of her stomach, resting there for a moment as they hold each other. His breath warms the front of her shirt. She cards her fingers through his hair lightly, letting her eyes fall closed. If she tries, she can pretend they’re just a man and a woman on a roadtrip to somewhere exciting. Just a pitstop on the way to some great, romantic destination. Instead they’re on the run to protect her from people who want to kill her. 

“You’re welcome,” he says after some time, pulling away to clasp at her hips again. His thumbs rub steady circles into her skin. “Hungry?”

“Starved.”

\--

They find a diner about a mile down the road, and it’s so similar to the one they sat in nearly two years ago it throws her for a loop. Same ugly shade of booths, same strong, bitter coffee, same unamused waitress. 

They order breakfast (“All day, every day!”) and settle around their coffee mugs. 

“So what if Matt can’t do it?” Karen blurts out as soon as the waitress wanders off with their order. 

Her breakfast companion (date? she wonders) frowns, tapping the table with his trigger finger. “Then I will,” he vows. “Don’t worry.”

“And what if you get killed? Or Matt?” The thought makes her throat close up with panic, and she seeks his hand across the table. He grasps it with both of his own, ducked his head to kiss at her knuckles. The gesture calms her slightly, and she lets out a long breath. 

“Haven’t been yet,” he says lightly, and then shakes his head at her unamused expression. “Karen, you know I’m gonna do what it takes you safe. I can’t--I can’t stand by. Not again.”

She softens, rubbing her thumb across his. “I know, Frank. I just hate that you’re in this because of me. You and Matt.”

“I’m not.” He stares her down, jaw clenched. His brows draw down. “And Red ain’t either. We’re in it because we choose it. And keeping you safe is just a bonus.”

He smiles a little, humorless but sincere. Karen sighs, dropping his hands in favor of her coffee cup. “So do you think he will?”

Frank leans back, picks up his mug again. “Dunno, we’ll see. He’s got Lieberman, now. Set that up between them--maybe he can help. Curt, too, if I ask.”

“No, Frank,” she hisses. “No more people getting involved.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know how to tell you that you’re important and that people are gonna fight for you.” He looks drawn. “So let us.”

It still doesn’t sit right with her, but the waitress comes back with their plates and she realizes how hungry she actually is. Hot dogs and chips only do so much, even if it is spaced out with beef jerky and granola bars. She digs into her food with as much eagerness as Frank and the topic moves to other things.

\--

By the time they get back to the hotel room, Karen is exhausted. Sleeping on the hard ground for a week without actual walls or locks has drained her, and now with a full belly and Frank’s hand grasping hers, she’s ready for sleep. 

“I think I’m gonna nap,” she tells him. 

“Read my mind,” he responds, drawing the blinds tighter and double checking the locks. He places a handgun on the side table and strips down to his boxer-briefs before crawling under the covers. He groans as he settles and finds her eyes. “Comin’?”

Karen nods, kicks her jeans off, and clambors in next to him. Frank automatically moves to accommodate her, curling an arm around her waist, his breath hot on her neck. He’s a hard line of muscle at her back, and she has just enough sense to lace her fingers with his before she tumbles into sleep. 

\--

She should have known they would be found eventually. Karen emerges from restless dreams with Frank’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. A glance at the clock shows it’s only been an hour since they laid down.

“Hey,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. “Lieberman called. They know where we are. Come on, we got five minutes.”

They pack up the room in record time and fly out the door. Frank peels out of there just as she sees several dark vehicles fly into the parking lot of the motel. They spend several minutes taking back roads and watching their mirror before Karen can even think to release the breath she’s been holding.

“What do we do now?” Karen asks, hyped up on adrenaline and still reeling from their quick escape. 

Frank grips the steering wheel tightly. “Dunno, thinking.”

She lets him, entertaining herself with the idea of being alone for this. If Frank had listened the first time she refused his help, she would have been certainly caught by now. It’s only his resources and his constant vigilance that’s kept them safe this entire time. The thought draws a shudder from her, and she tries to think of other things. More pleasant things. Like what they’ll finally be able to do once they’re safe and well rested and alone. A while passes of them driving North, and soon enough they’re entering Michigan. Karen glances at him, sees his jaw ticking as he thinks. “Frank?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never been to Michigan.”

The air leaves him in a giant whoosh. He reaches over blindly in search of her hand. “Me, either. Heard good things, though.”

“We’re not going to Canada, right?”

“Hell no. I’m just trying to give us some distance. We need a pay phone. And a plan.”

“What if we go back?”

He looks at her sideways before returning his stare back to the road. “What?”

“Go back and finish it?”

An amused snort. “Where’s that faith in Murdock, huh?”

“Frank, I’m serious. I can handle it. It’s...it wouldn’t be the first time.”

He glances over at that, bemused. “Sorry?”

She takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you when we stop. You’re not going to want to be driving for this.”

\--

They pull over somewhere North of Detroit and park the van in the back of another motel lot. They’re both in agreement that another night on the ground would be less than kind to their backs and their paranoia. Plus, she’ll be happy to have another night with a shower and a toilet. Frank goes in alone to inquire about a room, and when he comes back with keys she opens the door to help. He shakes his head, unloads two bags, and deposits them in the room. She waits, peering around the darkness nervously, head ducked. The minutes drag as he clears the room, and then he’s gesturing her inside from the doorway.

The room is small, just the one bed and adjoining bathroom. She’s thankful it looks relatively clean as she sinks into the bed. She’s exhausted thinking about the confession she’s about to unload on him. 

Frank doesn’t seem hurried. He locks the door and draws the blinds, sitting to unlace his shoes. Karen twists her fingers in her lap, waiting. He kicks off the boots, disappears into the bathroom, and comes back with the flush of a toilet. 

“Alright,” he says finally, sitting against the headboard to look at her. “What happened?”

So she tells him. About waking up in a warehouse, about Wesley mocking her again, about his threats to her friends and the gun. She tells him about how she shot the bastard, and how every time she squeezed the trigger she hoped that there was just one more round. She tells him about throwing the gun in the river and leaving the body. 

“And Fisk never knew it was you?” Frank asks, and it’s the first thing he’s said in half an hour. His face is intense, like he’s checking off a mental list. 

Karen bites the inside of her cheek. “Well--don’t be mad.”

He raises his brows, gestures for her to continue. 

“I told Fisk myself.”

His expression of disbelief and exasperation is so comical that she has to laugh. And then she keeps laughing until the tears begin streaming down her face. She hiccups her way through her explanation. “He--I went to his--penthouse--and I got in his face--I wanted a reaction--so I told him myself--and he tried--”

“Karen, hey, sh sh.” Frank is at her side in moments, wrapping her in his arms. He kisses her head desperately, rocks as she cries. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s gone, he’s dead, and he’ll never get to you. Okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, “I’m being ridiculous. I’ve just never told anyone about that, any of it.”

A hand strokes down her spine. “And you don’t have to again, if you don’t wanna. Listen, I’ve got you. Okay? Shit, Karen, you’re fucking incredible. You know that?”

She laughs, but it’s wet and strangled. “Thanks.”

“What do you say we try and get some shut eye, huh? And tomorrow...we’ll figure out what’s next.” 

\-- 

Turns out, they don’t have to. The phone rings as Karen is trying to operate the coffee machine in their room the next morning. Frank steps out of the bathroom immediately, halfway into his shirt. She looks at the hotel phone warily, conscious of what that meant the last time. 

“Hello?” Frank asks into the receiver, and then listens for a long while without speaking. Finally, he exhales slowly and glances at Karen’s worried expression. “Yeah, alright. You did good, Red. Have her back by the stroke of midnight.”

When he hangs up, Karen steps closer. There’s a tentative hope building in her chest. “Does that mean—?”

The transformation on his face is sudden and sets her pulse thundering. His chin drops, forehead smoothing, lips lifting in a sideways smile. It’s an expression she’s seen on his face a few times and it never fails to strike her with a sweet feeling of juxtaposition. Sometimes she forgets that he is the Punisher, when he smiles like that. He’s just...Frank. “Murdock got the job done. No one’s gonna touch you, Karen. It’s over.”

The full weight of his words settle into her mind and then her knees buckle, forcing her to sit. “Oh, thank god.” She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, willing the telling burning to quit, relief crashing into her. “I’m not going to cry again, don’t you let me.”

Frank chuckles, dropping onto the bed next to her. The sudden weight on the mattress jars her enough to make her rock into his side and she gives a surprised laugh. When he knocks her shoulder with his own teasingly, she leans in. Her lips seek his with a wide smile and Frank reciprocates gladly. He presses his forehead to hers with his eyes screwed shut when she breaks the kiss. 

“Ready to go home?” He asks quietly. 

“No.” 

He pulls back questioningly. Karen turns to face him. She brushes her thumbs over his cheekbones, his short beard coarse against her palms. “I,” she starts softly, “have still never really seen Michigan. I don’t know about you, but hotels aren’t really the best tourist attraction.”

His eyes flicker between hers, searching. “What are you gettin’ at?”

“I think we should keep going. What if we don’t go back yet? We have all that camping gear, and the waitress last week said that the Upper Peninsula is beautiful this time of year. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just think that--we’ve come this far. We’re already here. And I want more time with you. Just one more week, and then--...” She trails off when she notices the look on his face. “...Frank?”

“You wanna keep going? With me?”

“Frank, I want to go wherever you go.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “I know I wasn’t supposed to enjoy this trip. I wasn’t supposed to be happy to have you to myself. We were out here because of my mistakes. I put the people I love in danger...including you.” 

He stills, throat bobbing as he swallows. “You--”

“I love you.” Karen reaches up to brush a hand through his hair. When he doesn’t resist, she rests her hand against his neck. She wonders if she’ll be able to feel his pulse without searching for it—if she did, would it be steady or fast as hers is? “It doesn’t matter if you’re not there, or--or if you’re never going to be there. I would understand. But I do, and I’m not ready to go back yet. If that’s what you want.”

“God damn, Karen, you’re offerin’ me a dream and you expect me to say no?” He asks, eyes wide in that earnest way of his. “All that about not bein’ ready—has nothin’ to do with me loving you.” 

She inhales sharply. “You do?”

“How could I not?” He murmurs, his tone so reverent that she has to kiss him right then. So she does, again and again until they’re both gasping for breath, tangled in one another on top of the sheets. 

“Hey,” she says suddenly, sly, as his mouth peppers hot brands of his lips across her collarbone. Now that the danger has passed, her mind races with possibilities--and all of them end with her and Frank naked together. “We have an hour until check out.”

“Yeah,” he groans reluctantly, moving to roll off her. “I know, I’ll get everything together.”

She grasps his shirt before he can move too far. “No, Frank. We have an  _ hour  _ until  _ check out _ .”

He raises an eyebrow, braced on his elbows above her. Her meaning completely escapes him, if the confusion on his face is any indication. “Yeah, you want me to—?”

Karen groans. “Oh my god, Frank, we have an  _ hour _ without someone trying to kill us and a bed. Please don’t make me beg.”

His eyes widen in realization. A beat of silence passes, and then he drops his forehead to her shoulder and snorts out a laugh. His breath is warm on her neck when he speaks. “Shit. I’m rusty, Karen.”

“I know what you mean,” she laughs, carding her fingers through his hair. She’s always loved his hair—the texture, the thickness, the way it seems to have a gravity of its own. “I’ve been hopelessly in love with this obtuse vigilante for a while. It’s put quite the damper on my sex life.”

He lifts his head to look at her, tender eyed and smiling. “An hour, you said?”

“And ticking down.” She wiggles under him pointedly. 

The fire she’s been looking for ignites in his gaze. “Better make it worth it, huh?”

\--

The beach sand is warm between Karen’s toes when she stretches out her legs past her towel’s edge. She wiggles them happily and lets her eyes drift closed as she listens to the sound of waves lapping at the shore. Within minutes she’s ready for a nap in the sun, but her plans are dashed away by the insistent buzz of her phone. Or rather, her and Frank’s burner. She pulls it out of her bag and glances at the name on the screen with a grin. 

“Hi, Foggy!”

_ “Karen! Man it’s good to hear your angelic voice, it’s been way too long. Are you ever coming back to work, or should we make this temp permanent? Gotta say, she’s a bit of a hard sell. She definitely doesn’t laugh at my jokes like  _ someone  _ I know.” _

“No one laughs at your jokes, Fog.” Karen rolls her eyes. “Especially not me.”

_ “Wow, the road has made you cold. I can feel the chill from here. Where are you guys now?” _

“We’re at Pictured Rocks,” she responds, smiling. “I wish you could see it, Fog. Reception is a little dodgy though, sorry if I lose you.”

_ “No problem, and I don’t know. Summer in Northern Michigan? In a tent? Think of the bugs, Kare. Not to mention you guys probably reek.” _ He laughs in her ear.

“Oh, that’s not the point. It’s beautiful up here!” she chides, eyes following Frank as he walks along the beach, occasionally crouching down to look at something in the sand. The sunlight reflecting off the water is beautiful, and she’s dry and warm on her towel. They’re the only two people around, having hiked to the most secluded spot they could find. “We’ve seen so much since we started our trip.”

And they have. Their week-long vacation has dragged into two, and then three. They’re coming close to week four on the road. After staying in numerous hotels, camping on the side of the road, and backpacking throughout the Upper Peninsula, they’ve finally made it to the tip of Michigan. Pictured Rocks is something Karen saw in a brochure the week before, and Frank had been just as interested as her. He’d agreed readily to extending their vacation….again. There’s been a whole other side to him that this trip has unlocked--a carefree, relaxed version who doesn’t mind sleeping in or changing plans. One who floats on lake water with his eyes closed, and then goes searching for shells as he dries off. A Frank that reads to her by flashlight as she cooks them dinner over a campfire. 

_ “Is he around?” _

“No, what’s up?”

_ “Nothing, I’m just about to say something nice about him and don’t want him to hear.” _

“Foggy, those are the things you  _ should  _ say to him.” 

_ “Whatever. Anyways, I’m really happy for you, K. You’ve had a rough go of it the past few years, and even though I don’t always agree with his...methods...he’s making you happy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you like this. He’s good for you. ”  _ Foggy hesitates.  _ “You love him, don’t you?” _

“Yes,” she responds immediately, hugging her knees to her chest. She watches said man as he stops short and the squats down in ankle deep water. “I do.”

There’s a few breaths of silence, and then Foggy laughs.  _ “Only you would fall for the scariest man in New York. Hey, you can’t debate that. Guy’s freakin’ scary. But I’m really happy you’re happy. And I think that he’s kind of a badass, too. Does he love you back?” _

Frank turns around and holds something up. Karen squints, and then flashes him a wide smile. The conch in his hand is huge and glossy. Frank offers a crooked grin, looking carefree and young, and then wanders off further down the shoreline. She follows his tan shoulders as they move further away.

_ “Kare?” _

“Yes, he does. Hey look, I have to go, but can I call you tomorrow?”

_ “You crazy kids. Go have fun, I’ll talk to you soon.”  _

“Hey Fog?”

_ “Yeah?” _

“I’m definitely going to tell him you said he’s a badass.”

Karen hangs up amidst Foggy’s loud protests and tosses the phone onto her beach towel before climbing to her feet. She catches Frank’s eye just as her shorts hit the sand, and then she’s running towards the water. Frank grins and tosses the shell onto the ground, chasing after her. 

They meet each other in the waves. 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea if you can find conches on a Michigan beach, but it worked for the narrative. I’ve also never been to Pictured Rocks but it’s on my bucket list!
> 
> PS - you can find me on tumblr with the same handle, come say hi! And as always, all comments and kudos give me life <3


End file.
